The Making Of A Mother
I have memories of playing 'family' with my sisters. We made choices about who was who--likely I was the daughter or the dad (lol crux of being the middle sister). On the off chance my sisters agreed I could play 'mom', I insisted that I was pregnant or had a baby(doll). We even went so far as to stuff a baby doll and pillow under my shirt to appear with child. It was a riot, looking back.
My sisters and I were surrounded by strong women: aunts, grandmothers, great aunts, great-grandmothers, friends' moms, TV moms, and our fierce and kind mother. Is it any wonder we aspired to be them? How little we knew of the truth of motherhood. We saw the joys and magic, shielded from the trials and sorrows.
As I was expecting our first son (read more about that drama here), the magic felt palpable. Literally, our baby's somersaults, elbow jabs, and little finger movements (iykyk) cued me into the reality of pregnancy, and what I thought was 'real' motherhood. Our son was born, and man, was I unprepared for the love. Holding our son and watching him grow was "your heart existing in the world" personified. This was beautiful and overwhelming--how do I carry the weight of loving him and knowing the world will likely hurt him in some way, some day?
Questions, so many questions in that first year of motherhood--and I was a pediatric nurse! As we prepared to welcome our second son, I had the age-old worry: how will my heart love another child just as much as I love our first? Well, I don't know how, other than it was coded in my DNA to love them both, and eventually our third son, completely. My love for our three boys is different for each, and all-consuming, never-ending, "to the end of the universe times infinity".
Matrescence is a term that was coined in the 1970's by a researcher who deemed the making of a woman into a mother a phenomenon unseen in any other facet of humanity. Fortunately, I have journeyed from child to woman to mother, and I can attest to his discovery. Becoming a mother was a trial by fire, stardust, clay, tears, and simply, magic. I am not who I thought I would be; I do not have my s#&t together most days, and I frequently have to apologize for losing said s#&t. My motherhood is not a fairytale; it is something real. Full of bruises, scrapes, songs, tears, stories at bedtime, and likely, wrestling matches to referee.
I am a mother; a woman whose heart walks around in the world, three times over. What a beautiful and terrifying truth. Maybe, just maybe, that is the best definition of motherhood--simultaneously exquisite and fear-inducing. And what a fantastic adventure it can be.
From one mother to another,
Comments